


Living History

by Rubynye



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, M/M, Pillow Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 15:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1609694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam was eight his favorite book was  <i>Captain Rogers and the Howling Commandos</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living History

"What," Steve murmurs, long-lashed eyelids slowly lifting, "are you thinking so loudly about?"

"You are _not_ a telepath," Sam mumbles, his face half buried in the pillow, his arm slung across the breadth of Steve's chest and their legs comfortably tangled. Drying sweat and pleasure's afterglow prickle lightly across his skin, and until Steve spoke up Sam had been more than content to ride the easy rise and fall of Steve's breathing and drowsily watch him dozing at peace. "For all you know you just woke me up."

"Yeah, I don't think so." A little Brooklyn oozes into Steve's melted voice, and Sam grins to hear it, to watch Steve's broad sleepy smile. "Not when you just chuckled to yourself. Spill it, Wilson."

Sam blinks, unease waking him up a little. He's not surely Steve actually wants to hear about the past he was contemplating, especially not right now in this very present moment. He shifts his hand, sliding it across Steve's solid pec to rest on his breastbone, and considers saying something about how damn good he looks right now, warmly wrung out and glistening in the soft lamplight.

Steve picks up on Sam's pause, his slow pulse speeding up a tick, those princess lashes swinging up as his eyes open all the way. Sam gets caught in those eyes, flag blue ringing infinite black, his heart doing a thousand-foot swoop; Steve gently drapes long fingers over his wrist, saying, "Sam, it's okay, you don't have to tell me," which guarantees Sam absolutely does.

"I just remembered this book I had as a kid." Sam tips his face out of the pillow, spreading his hand out across the smooth dense skin over Steve's heart. "My favorite when I was eight, actually. It was called _Captain Rogers_ \--" Steve's lips part in a pink oval of surprise -- " _and the Howling Commandos_ , and I reread it until the covers fell off."

Steve rolls his eyes, which Sam lets himself laugh at, and rumbles, which is a hell of a lot of fun to feel, and best of all doesn't look all that annoyed. "You're in bed thinking about a kid's history book," he says low, obviously trying to sound more put out than he actually feels.

"My favorite book," Sam emphasizes, and Steve's lopsided grin melts the little fragment of worry clean away. "It had great art, too, especially the cover." Steve groans, covering his face with his free hand, and Sam can't stop now. "Captain America in a three-quarter shot, lantern-jawed and handsome, with his crew fanned out behind him. Very inspiring."

Steve looks up between his fingers. "Just how flatteringly inaccurate was that cover art?"

"Man, don't fish for compliments." Sam pats Steve's beautifully massive chest, pushing up onto his elbow for a better view. "You know damn well how pretty you are. Or do you need a reminder?" Sam drops his voice, leaning in a little closer, and as Steve lightly squeezes Sam's wrist he tucks his other hand behind Sam's neck, his smile so trusting and his face so smooth Sam's heart hurts a little. He has to press his hip against the hard wall of Steve's thigh, has to pat his solid chest again, to remind himself of just how big and strong Steve really is, and not just physically.

That's what reminded Sam of the book, after all, the contrast of Steve sprawled warmly in his bed, cheek fuzzed with fine blond stubble, and the memory of the lantern-jawed hero who lit up Sam's eight-year-old imagination. Now Steve smiles a little but shrugs off the compliment, lightly strokes the hinge of Sam's jaw with his thumb and asks more seriously, "What did you like about it?"

"it was exciting, of course, but what I liked best was just how brave you were." Choosing his words carefully, because Steve had to live this, Sam says, "My favorite story was the first one, where you went into an enemy facility all alone, rescued the POWs, and put together your squad. I used to daydream about being one of your guys, about marching victoriously behind you."

Steve's eyes haze over as he looks into his memory at everything Sam's not mentioning. "I hope they left out some of the details," he murmurs, before looking up at Sam again. " _That's_ what you used to daydream about as a kid."

"Before I got into _Power Rangers_ , yeah," brings out that lopsided grin again, and Sam can't resist leaning in and kissing Steve's upper lip.

Steve shapes his mouth to the kiss, tipping his chin up into it. But his lips stay shut, and when Sam leans back Steve's not smiling. There's that worry again, sharp as ever. "How does the reality measure up?"

Sam would roll his eyes, but he understands how seriously Steve means this, so he says honestly, "I thought of my book because just now all I could see was your peach fuzz."

Score. Steve grins a moment before shifting to mock outrage. "This is heroic stubble."

"It's _transparent_." Sam brushes his knuckles over Steve's cheekbone, Steve tilts a little to kiss his fingers, and Sam aches with happiness. "Just, damn, Steve, you're so young." But his eyes aren't, evening blue as he listens. "Not counting the time you spent in the ice, you're not even thirty, are you? And you changed the world."

Steve shuts those eyes, fingers flexing around Sam's wrist, and pulls Sam down to his shoulder. It's a broad comfortable pillow, Steve's heat radiating like a banked fire, so Sam looks at his hand silhouetted on Steve's chest and lets him hide his expression as he mutters, "Not enough."

"More than most people, over and over again." But what Steve needs isn't his own resume recited back to him. "Plus, you changed my life." Steve inhales sharply, hopefully a good sign. "When I was sixteen and my so-called guidance counselor tried to talk me out of taking physics and pre-calculus, even my Mom wasn't sure I could do it, but I remembered plucky little Steve Rogers who wouldn't let anyone tell him no, so I insisted. I got A minuses in both, and without those grades I wouldn't've gotten into the Air Force."

Steve sighs warmly and squeezes Sam's wrist in a five-fingered hug. "I thought the first story in your book was about my first mission."

"Yeah, the stuff about your transformation was in the foreword." Sam dares glance up, and Steve's smiling at the ceiling. "What I always noticed, whenever I read that part, was how much you didn't change." Steve blinks and looks sideways, meeting Sam's eyes, his fingers sliding warmly across Sam's shoulder as Sam lifts his head. "You're still that guy. And how many people get to kiss their childhood heroes and tell them thank you?"

Steve frowns a little and pushes Sam back for a heart-freezing moment, shifting onto his side, a double line crimped between his eyes. "Is that what you're doing? Kissing your childhood hero?"

Okay, regroup. Sam takes a deep breath. "No, man, because that would be _weird_." Steve smiles, but that double crease hasn't smoothed away, so Sam keeps talking, lets himself say what he's been thinking. "But I met this guy, this fast-moving showoff." Steve's smile widens, the crease starts to flatten. "Kinda pretty though, brave and inspiring, a real leader, and he has the biggest heart in the world. I'm kissing him, if he'll let me."

Steve's smile tilts bashfully, he starts to look away, then pushes forward with that speed and steals a kiss off Sam's surprised lips. "I think that can be arranged," he rumbles, and Sam growls before he thinks as he dives in for another. For a moment or five it's sweet and deep and dirty, Steve's tongue just as sleek and magnificent as all his other muscles, and Sam's ready to be done talking for awhile, hitching his knee behind Steve's thigh, smoothing his hand down Steve's long rippling flank, hardening towards another go.

But Steve gently pries Sam off again, one hand pushing lightly over his heart, and answers his little groan with a big cornball grin. "So what else did you like about that book?"

"Forget the book." Sam shimmies, nudging Steve's hard thigh with his hopeful dick, and Steve laughs a little breathily. "It left out the best stuff anyway." He leans in to skim his lips across Steve's velvety cheek as Steve's strong arm slips around his waist. "Like how damn hot our hero is," Sam murmurs over Steve's pulse, edging his teeth along the long tendon; he bites down slowly, listening to Steve's pleased hiss, feeling his breathing speed as he trembles under the sharp sucking kiss.

Little by little Sam ramps up the bite, taking his time as Steve's hand around his wrist clenches to bone-creakingly tight, keeping it going until Steve's low vibrating groan swells into an openmouthed moan. After easing off he presses his lips to the hot bruise, listening to happy gasps as he feels Steve's skin cool to its usual radiant warmth; by the time Sam pulls back to look there's no mark left, just evenly pale skin. Still, Steve's breathing hard, head tipped back to expose his long throat, lips tenderly parted and a flush rising on his cheekbones. "And how good he tastes," Sam continues, maybe a little smugly.

Steve's eyes flicker open, blown and shining; he firms up his grip, palming Sam's asscheek as he hauls Sam entirely atop himself, and Sam gives up a startled much-too-high noise that sharpens Steve's smile into something wicked. "You know," Steve says, way too calmly with his dick pressed hard and hot to Sam's belly, hand tight and hot on his ass, fingertips stroking the crease of his thigh, "A new generation's favorite book's gonna be about the famous Falcon --"

"All right, all right!" Sam pushes his hand over Steve's mouth, the only yielding part of him, and Steve bites his finger exactly hard enough to raise sparks beneath his skin. "If I say sorry for bringing it up will you fuck me already?"

Steve nods and kisses his palm, and Sam cradles Steve's cheek, gazing in horny wonder at this beautiful man, really in his life, solid and furnace-hot between his thighs. "Nah," Steve murmurs, letting go of Sam's wrist to brush his thumb over Sam's lip, and Sam returns the finger-kiss. "No apology necessary, it was worth hearing about. And, yes," he rumbles, stroking his hand off Sam's face to make a long arm and grab the lube, holding Sam's gaze the whole time, showoff. "Yeah, I'd be honored to fuck you."

Dropping the lube by his hip, Steve slides his hand up Sam's back, and Sam shivers warmly under the broad fingertips trailing up the crease of his spine. "Officer and a gentleman," he breathes over Steve's parted lips and kisses him again, Steve cups his nape and pulls him in tight, and _that's_ the end of talking for the night.


End file.
